


blue moon (you went and turned to gold)

by commacomma



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Business Trip, Death, Dracula AU, Dracula Influence/References, M/M, Minor Violence, Vampire Sirius Black, basically dracula if jonathan harker wasnt a coward and seduced the count like a real man, minor gore, moony's still a werewolf but they don't know each other, nothing super graphic but ya know. he eat ppl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28020384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commacomma/pseuds/commacomma
Summary: title from the Beatles' studio jam titled "Blue Moon"Stop the Count!
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	blue moon (you went and turned to gold)

With his arrival in the strange country being strictly upon business, Remus Lupin was undoubtedly surprised to find that he was awaited by a welcoming party at the train station in Bistritz. He emerged from the cabin into the sharp, cool air and at once wished that he had taken his warmer coat. A small band of strangers, some whispering feverishly even as they were perceived, waved him over from the other side of a dusty road, and when he obliged, one man caught him by the arm and he was whisked away in an instant. 

In the smattering of voices he could vaguely make the shape of German tongue. He tried, with all that his study of the language afforded him, to ask, “Where am I going?”

The party either did not understand or did not deign to answer. But, being of a rare temperament, Remus was not frayed or unnerved by their behavior. He followed along without a falter in his stride, for they surely knew their way better than he, who was at the present taking his eighth, now ninth, now tenth steps in a land unknown to him. Romania was, as far as he had seen in snatches of forest, quite beautiful, but he could not help that he sensed something treacherous, deep in the cover of pines.

On this walk from the station, apparently to an inn of sorts, by the lettering on the sign, Remus took in the people guiding him. They seemed kind and merry enough. The dress was different from that of Wales, but not shockingly so, as his employer had implied over a business lunch. What Mr. Moody had said exactly was,  _ Folk there aren’t like us. _ In hindsight, Remus wondered what exactly he referred to, but the man was not called Mad-Eye for nothing, and he hadn’t thought at the time to question it. 

Once inside the inn, one of the men that had walked him over took his bags and disappeared behind a corner. He was promptly handed a glass of wine and ushered down the hall, into a cozy parlor that was, he was slightly relieved, uninhabited. He saw no one for a few minutes and sipped his drink curiously. Already weary from his travel, he knew that he had at least a days’ journey ahead from Bistritz to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. 

The innkeeper finally came to welcome him, a kind looking woman dusted with flour, and informed him that he would not depart until the morning. She watched him with a perpetual wide eye, as though he looked sickly, and would perish by as little as a gust of wind right before her. Remus was accustomed to concerned looks from strangers, for he considered himself something of a ghastly sight: always pale, looking sleepless with hollows below his eyes, and flecked with scars that crossed his face, striped his arms, crept out from beneath his shirt collar. But he was quite astounded when she took the wine glass from his hand and pressed a rosary into his palm in its place.

“Better you don’t go,” she said, her speech slow and deliberate enough for him to understand. He was still not adjusted to the local vernacular. “But this will protect you.”

At a loss to surmise her warning, he only nodded his thanks to her. Though he was not religious, and found no comfort in Jesus in particular, he was more concerned with showing appreciation for a thoughtful gesture. She crossed herself, informed him that she would fetch him for supper, and pointed him in the direction of his room. After a hearty meal and an hour spent sketching away at the desk provided, he hauled himself into a deep sleep, the hushed sounds of the inn lulling him into a dream.

In the morning he woke and curled in on himself beneath a thickly sewn quilt. His toes were nipped with cold, but tempting as it was to sleep in, he rose and dressed with haste, eager to begin his trip in order to reach the end of it as soon as possible. He paused to ponder the rosary only for a moment before slipping it around his neck, tucked discreetly beneath his sweater. A cold breakfast of fruit, cheese, and bread was left on his desk, with a note from the innkeeper that estimated his departure as taking place at ten o’clock.

In the sitting room where he took his meal, he noted that the scarce few guests in attendance avoided his eyes. He handled the matter with outward indifference, so as not to seem unapproachable, but privately despaired at the idea that his condition had been suspected so quickly. Again, one of Moody's warnings struck him oddly:  _ A superstitious lot, those are.  _ Since scarring his own face less than a year ago, more people than ever seemed aware of such unnatural injuries. It was more common now for him to be thrown out of buildings or, as had occurred on his last business trip, run out of town by locals. The stares of his fellow patrons did not ease throughout the remainder of the early hours.

True to the note, he was alerted to the arrival of the coach shortly after breakfast. A handful of other passengers, as well as a darkly hooded coachman whose head did not turn toward his company, awaited him on the dusty road that bisected the town to a left and right side. When Remus and his few light bags were loaded into the back, a whip cracked, and with a bolt the horses took off. The speed was high enough to be precarious, but the other travelers, he noticed, were unalarmed. Still warily was he watched.

There were windows on either side of the cab, through which the view gave from the small town quickly into wilderness. It was a comfort to Remus, but he noticed many faces around him tense. He saw in his peripheral more gestures of the cross and tried hard as he could not to turn his head. He was seated in a spot that allowed him to rest on the window, and so, horribly slouched and destined to have a crook in his neck, he went to sleep to pass the time. 

When next he opened his eyes, the sky had dissolved from pale morning into a timeless gloom. He could not detect the sun beneath the cushions of cloud, white as snow, that padded the sky. What pierced him immediately, like a kettle's shriek, was the howling of wolves that surrounded him. An elderly man sitting beside him began praying feverishly in German, bent over his clasped hands. It was then he noticed that this man was the only other passenger left. The coach vaulted forward, as rambunctious as when it had taken leave, but the uncanny baying never sounded further or closer at all, as though the wolves were acting as escorts, following dutifully at each side. It was not possible to sleep any longer. 

By measure of half an hour, he decided that he had dozed through a large portion of the journey. Not long after the wolves began their jeering did the sun fully set and submerge the scene in darkness. As he listened in to the prayers at his side, slowly collecting bits and pieces that he could translate, a newfound tension built in his jaw.  _ Please do not let him go, _ the stranger was begging,  _ my God almighty, do not let him go to that House... _

Time dragged on with the speed of a feather falling. At every moment the horses seemed to lull, as though there might be a stop ahead, they just as quickly rebounded. By the time that the man’s journey did end, and he climbed out of the coach to scurry down a path into the snow, spires of the mansion were boring holes into the high moon.

In the week or so that the moon waxed before turning full, its shine struck Remus to his core. He never could tell, and had no one to ask, whether or not this was a real side effect of lycanthropy, or something that only his mind suffered. He could avoid any dizzy spells by staying inside, but there was always restlessness, always an edged feeling that he could, if ever he wanted, turn beast at any moment. His constant reminder that the wolf was not always sleeping. He stared into the moon’s face at the window of the coach, eyes wide and wild, pulled out of this trance only by a jerky stop and a knock at the door. 

Only moments later, a shadowed face leaned in, and the moonlight shone upon high cheekbones and a proud hooked nose. This was undoubtedly the Count, and though Remus was unsure what possessed him to make the assumption, it was confirmed only a moment later when the stranger spoke.

“It is a pleasure to see that you have arrived safely, Mr. Lupin,” he began, extending a hand in the dark, “I am sure you already know well, but I find it too presumptuous not to introduce myself. Sirius Black, owner and last to stand in the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.” 

His English was immaculate, and for a moment Remus was too taken aback to respond. Quickly, his wits found their way safely back. He took the hand before him, cold as ice and with a grip firmer than that of a soldier’s, and shook it for good measure. 

“Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Black.” Because he had not included his title in his introduction, Remus did not use it to address him. He could not be sure, but such informality seemed to delight the expecting eyes. “I do hope that Mr. Moody’s absence on such short notice has not deterred you.” 

“Oh, not in the least. Though I am certain he hoped it would.” With his hand now free, the Count waved it with perhaps more nonchalance than any young heir should exhibit - for he  _ was _ young, Remus realized with a start, perhaps no older than himself. “Come, we must get you out of this cold!”

The fact of the cold had actually escaped Remus entirely until that instant. Stepping into the howling night, he was suddenly reminded of the wind, and shuddered to the bone as it made itself familiar with him. The coach was nestled right between the wings of a vast iron gate, which rose beyond any human height, and seemed to circle the massive structure of the house itself. In awe, Remus paused to track his eyes all the way to the highest spire of the building: a tall steeple that rose to such a sharp point it looked like an eyeless needle. 

The Count spoke a great deal as they entered, though his words matched verbatim the inquiry of sale that detailed the estate. But Remus found the formal history to be somewhat of a bore, particularly where generational wealth was concerned. In the stone walls that harbored them, there was certainly much more to be learned than who had laid the stone. Nonetheless, he listened attentively, providing some trivial questions for the sake of conversation, until they arrived in a great dining hall.

“I had some food prepared, if you are not too tired from your journey,” Sirius informed him, gesturing to one end of the table laden with a platter of chicken, and various large dishes surrounding it. “My apologies that I have already eaten, I was unsure of when you might arrive.”

For only one, it was a startling amount of food. Remus blinked at it a moment, afraid to waste what he surely could not finish alone, before his hunger caught up to him. “I didn’t quite have the foresight to pack food for the journey, so I appreciate it. Though I should tell you now that I prefer not to eat meat.”

“Might I ask why?” Though he had no intention to eat, the Count seated himself around the corner as Remus settled at the end of the table. As an afterthought, he asked, “You do not mind company?”

“Not at all,” he nodded and made a loose gesture with his hand of invitation. He was still inspecting the food, making sure to avoid the dishes that obviously contained meat, or that heavy scent of cumin that implied it. He decided on a pan of roasted vegetables and began to fill the empty plate before him as he answered. “As for why, I suppose it doesn’t settle well with me. Since I was a child, I’ve avoided it. If someone has gone to great trouble to prepare it, of course, I try not to be rude.”

“There will be no need for that in this case,” the Count assured him, smiling pleasantly as he watched. “I will make sure to pass the message along to the cook, for the future.” He asked no more questions as his guest began to eat.

His demeanor was breathable, and in a way a persistent shock to Remus, who had been warned of his belligerence thoroughly ahead of time. As he enjoyed his food, he was finally presented a well-lit moment to look his host over and absorb his surroundings. Sirius was a very striking man, with eyes like two suns in eclipse, deep brown and piercing. Catching them a few times, Remus even averted his own for their intensity. His hair, of a similar darkness, fanned out in springy curls, and straightened must have reached his mid back; it was mildly tamed only by a half ponytail that kept it clear of his face. By the light of candles at the table, his olive complexion was glowing warm, though the hollows of his cheeks and the shadows below his eyes gave him a gaunt look. Small brown dots decorated him - birthmarks or freckles or moles, it could not be discerned across a table; one on his upper lip, just at the left corner of a cupid’s bow, inexplicably caught Remus’ eye throughout his meal.

He ate as quickly as he could without being voracious. Though he easily could have helped himself to seconds, he was exhausted of sitting, and the thought of a bed was intoxicating. The Count seemed to read this in his movements as he set down his fork and took a drink of water.

“A guest bedroom has been prepared for you,” he began, resuming speaking as though their earlier conversation had not paused, “There will be time for a decent tour of the House tomorrow, but you are surely very tired. I ask that you do not wander the halls until you are more familiar with the place, only for your own interest. Most of the doors are locked, you see, but one can easily get lost.”

It felt unnatural to leave his own unwashed dishes behind, but Remus reminded himself of where he was and picked up from the table. “Don’t worry about that, Mr. Black, I’m much too tired for any exploring tonight. The food was wonderful, by the way, I hope that I might get a chance to meet with your cook during my stay.”

“Ah, yes, that could most likely be arranged.” For the first time, he sounded unsure, but quickly recovered with curious energy. “This way!”

And so Remus was led up three flights of stairs, through each step finding his eyes heavier and heavier. They spoke little on the journey. After bidding one another a polite goodnight, he opened his door and began the difficult process of settling into a cold room.


End file.
